Housekeeping
by Sorafrosty
Summary: House doesn’t want anything for his birthday, but does Wilson listen? Nope, so he gets him an unbearable gift he knows is going to piss House off. Rated ‘T’ for language; better safe than sorry
1. Chapter 1

Title:

**Title:** Housekeeping

**Summary: **House doesn't want anything for his birthday, but does Wilson listen? Nope, so he gets him an unbearable gift he knows is going to piss House off. Rated 'T' for language. Sorry for the bad and weird title…

**A/N**: Yup, this is my first chapter fic, and i hope you'll like it! Weird thing is, i always come up with great stuff for House to say once i turn off my computer... Oh, well! if you want me to continue this(or it just made you curious and stuff) tell me in reviews! Happy reading:)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own House MD. This is purely fictional and there's no need to sue, as I am not making a profit out of this.

--

_The week before_…

"The only reason I'd want something for my birthday, was if Cuddy was a hooker and available that night, and besides," House pressed the oncologist against the wall with his cane, and hissed into his ear. "If you throw me a giant surprise party, I'll kill you."

Wilson chuckled, releasing himself from the diagnostician's cane and continued to walk beside him down the hall. "Even if someone did throw you a surprise party, the only thing that would yell surprise when you walked in would be sound card. Not even I would come to _your_ birthday party..." It was House's birthday next week, and he had made it clear that he wanted nothing, absolutely nothing as a gift. But Wilson had a plan. It was not going to make his friend happy, but considering the laugh he would have of this (and the fact that it in fact was all to House's benefit) made it all worth it.

As soon as they reached the parking lot of the hospital, Wilson couldn't hold it in any longer. He had to tell him. "House," He said, to get his attention. "I'm not going to lie to you; I've already got you a present…"

He saw House's anger as soon as he finished the sentence. "You idiot! Why did you…?! I specifically told you not to, and then you did. Ah, well, should've expected it from you… You've got ears the size of Grand Canyon, Jimmy, but listening to what I say seems a bit difficult for you... SHOULD I SHOUT IT TOO YOU, PERHAPS!?"

"Keep your voice down! You might like this present… as I am no longer living with you…" Wilson followed House to his bike.

"Hah, so this is just a…" He put his jacket on, as he searched for the word. "Replacement sort of thing? Like a big plant with the name-tag 'Jimmy Wilson' on it and a built in voice moderator that says 'House, stop popping those Vicodins like they were candy!'? Or, my personal favorite; 'If you just tried functioning without them… You're an addict, Greg House!'"

The oncologist sighed. "No, it's something different. And stop guessing, you'll never find out what it is."

"Is it something small?"

He chuckled. "Definitely, it's smaller than you, I promise."

"Fine. As long as it isn't an animal, a table, books or anything else whiny and useless." He grabbed his bad leg, swung it over the bike and drove off, without saying goodbye to his friend.

"Bye, House…" Wilson muttered and went to his car in the other end of the parking lot.


	2. Chapter 2

Title:

**Title:** Housekeeping

**Summary: **House doesn't want anything for his birthday, but does Wilson listen? Nope, so he gets him an unbearable gift he knows is going to piss House off. Rated 'T' for language. Sorry for the bad and weird title…

**Disclaimer: **I do not own House MD or any of its characters. The ones you don't recognize, belong to me. This is purely fictional and there's no need to sue, as I am not making a profit out of this.

**A/N**: Hi, here's the next chapter as you can see A HUGE thank you to JayTee, LosingTrack, Phantom531 and chickloveslotr! You guys are great for actually reading the goddamn thing! Happy reading, people! And as always, just click the button that says "Submit review" if you've got anything to tell me

--

I looked at Dr. Wilson, the person who had answered my ad at the notice board down at the supermarket, as he opened the door to my new boss' home with, what he told me, the spare key. He had said to me that the apartment suffered from permanent loss of care. I agreed; the dust in the shelves was as thick as the carpet by the couch, and dirty dishes were piled up in large amounts by the sink, among empty take-away containers. Here I could have mentioned the bedroom, but I rather not; it was so utterly… filthy.

"Just who is this…Dr. House?" I said, dumping down on the couch. A puff of dust emitted from it as I did.

Wilson chuckled. "He's an eccentric diagnostician. I think you'll find working for him quite… challenging."

I raised my eyebrows. Even if he was right, I still needed the job, plus a place to stay; not many people had housekeepers living in their homes, and the fact that I was just kicked out from my small apartment two weeks ago and had been living off of a friend's hospitality for too long, only proved my desperation.

"He won't be home until at least nine this evening, so you'll have plenty of time to… um, tidy up before he gets here."

I got up and grabbed my scruffy bag off of the floor. "Just two questions though; who'll pay me? And does this Dr. House know?"

He laughed again. "I'll pay for the first two months. As for what House knows or not… I'll make sure that he knows. You just sleep on the couch for now, until you've cleaned out that old closet and put a bed in. Should I lock the door when I leave?"

I nodded. "Will I be seeing you in the future, Dr. Wilson?"

"Be sure on that… I'm House's only friend."

"Ooh," I said, smirking. "Sounds like a people person…"

_Later that night…_

I heard a click coming from the entrance door about half past ten. Light chatter then flowed from the living room and out to me, there I was standing in the kitchen. I recognized Wilson's voice immediately, beside another one I didn't know of. I suspected it to belong to Dr. House.

"Do you have beer in your fridge for once?" I heard Wilson ask. I tried hard not to listen, as it wasn't my place, but it was very difficult not to. What can I say; I was curious of the guy.

"Yeah, I'll go get it…" I heard pillows being ruffled and steps coming towards the kitchen. I turned around to face the person coming in.

Suddenly he stood there in the doorway, staring at me with clear blue eyes. He looked sort of rough, with his blue, very untidy shirt and the worn-out jeans. The cane at his side supported his right leg. Wilson had told me he was suffering pain from it and, he had added with a slight cough, he ate Vicodin like they were sweets so that the pain wouldn't be so bad.

"Hi…" I raised my hand for a halfheartedly greeting.

"Who are you!?" I heard the anger in his voice, though he didn't raise it to shouting quite yet.

"Um… I'm your maid, well, perhaps not that, but that sort of person…" I mumbled.

He hobbled towards me, grabbed me by my collar and headed for the living room, with me struggling to jump backwards after him. Wilson turned his head when he heard my protests, and he looked most surprised when House shoved me in front of him, still not letting go of my collar, and said; "Jimmy, what is this?!"

He sighed, resting his forehead in his hands. "Ah, I forgot to tell you… It's your birthday today, House… So, there's your gift, happy birthday."

The diagnostician shot a glance at me. "Her? What does she do?"

"She's your housekeeper. I figured you needed one, as I'm no longer taking care of your home and you clearly never will."

"Are you," he snarled, moving closer to Wilson while still hanging on to me, "calling me immobile, Jimmy?"

Wilson rolled his eyes and stood up, locking his brown eyes with the diagnostician's blue. "No, House, I'm calling you lazy. You hardly ever clean up around here, and you can't live like this much longer. That's why I got you Stella."

I coughed. Both men peered down at me. "Can you let go of my collar, you're nearly lifting me off my feet here… it's kind of annoying."

He let go and then shot me a look that suggested I was worth just as much as a rat's vomit. I smiled lovingly in return.

House turned to Wilson. "Can she cook? I'm not letting her stay if she can't cook, how old is she anyway?" He gave me the rat vomit stare again. "What, are you in pre-school or something?"

"I'm twenty, and I can cook, goddamnit!" I put my hands on my hips and gave him a similar stare.

"Prove it," he said, a creepy grin on his lips, "cook us dinner right now. I saw some ingredients, or whatever you call it, on the table out on the kitchen, so you've must've gone shopping. It's my birthday, you know, so it better be good!"

I held up my hands defensively. "Fine. What are you up for?"

He looked to the oncologist, who mumbled something that sounded like "stop it, House", and then turned back to me. "Make whatever you find… suiting this occasion. Then go and clean my bedroom; it's messy."

I turned on my heels and went back into his newly cleaned kitchen, not actually knowing what to make. But when I looked through the groceries I'd bought, I knew exactly what to cook. _Fine_, I thought,_ he wants food, and he'll get it. I'll make the best mac and cheese he ever ate!_


	3. Chapter 3

Title:

**Title:** Housekeeping

**Summary: **House doesn't want anything for his birthday, but does Wilson listen? Nope, so he gets him an unbearable gift he knows is going to piss House off. Rated 'T' for language. Sorry for the bad and weird title…

**Disclaimer: **I do not own House MD or any of its characters. The ones you don't recognize belong to me. This is purely fictional and there's no need to sue, as I am not making a profit out of this.

**A/N**: Hope you're not disappointed by the outcome of this… I'll update soon if you wish

--

They ate the food I had prepared for them in silence, slight clashes between plates and forks the only sound. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't standing there watching them as they ate, but I continued browsing through House's music collection, listening intently for any sound of approval or the opposite. While browsing, I found out that both the weird diagnostician and I had the more or less the same taste in music. I had to laugh when I found House's MP3 player; it was fully loaded with songs by various rock bands I cherished myself.

Fifteen minutes later, I heard platters being put on top of each other and chairs pushed. House mumbled something to Wilson about that he needed to be alone. The oncologist said that, sure, he would leave him to himself, but only if that meant me staying. The diagnostician sort of coughed a yes, and practically shoved him out of the door a couple of minutes later.

As soon as he closed the door behind Wilson, I knew I was in some sort of trouble.

"Well, just because I told jimmy you'd stay doesn't mean I intend to keep my promise! So, it's your time to go!" House said, hobbling over to me and grabbing me by my collar again.

"Hey! Hey! Let go, I haven't done anything wrong! Wilson hired me! Do you think I'd take the job if I knew what kind of person I'd be working for? And did you even taste my food?" I struggled to keep myself standing while he literary tried to kick me out.

To my surprise, House started laughing. "Can it, kid, I've made up my mind; you're out. I don't even like sharing half of my cookie with someone, what makes you think I'd share my home with you, a girl with absolutely no mind of her own and too big feet?!"

He then pushed me out, firmly locking the door behind me. I got back on my, from his point of view, enormous feet, realizing with anger that he had forgotten to throw my bag out. I gritted my teeth; the bastard was probably looking through it right now, searching for items that were dear to me.

I thought about going through the small kitchen window later that night to get my stuff, but I then I thought about what House would do if he noticed me breaking in; he'd probably hit me silly with that cane of his. I would surely get my stuff, but with a high price to pay in doing so.

I sat down, leaning towards the door. I couldn't leave without my bag; all my clothes were there, plus my music and other things I loved. I decided to wait outside till he left in the morning and then polite ask for my bag.

It had been an hour or so (of complete boredom from my side; watching cars go rolling by isn't nearly as fun as it sounds, which I think stated how amusing it clearly isn't) before I felt the door swing open behind me. House was standing over me, locking my muddy green eyes with his icy blue. My bag wasn't in his hands.

"Don't hit me…" I whispered, reaching my arms up to cover my head.

"I won't hit you, at least not now," he replied, raising his eyebrows, a mocking expression on his face. "I have some questions for you, and I expect you to answer honestly."


	4. Chapter 4

Title:

**Title:** Housekeeping

**Summary: **House doesn't want anything for his birthday, but does Wilson listen? Nope, so he gets him an unbearable gift he knows is going to piss House off. Rated 'T' for language. Sorry for the bad and weird title…

**Disclaimer: **I do not own House MD or any of its characters. The ones you don't recognize belong to me. This is purely fictional and there's no need to sue, as I am not making a profit out of this.

**A/N**: Phew! This story is taking its toll on me! Thank god it's the weekend! Thank you all for reviewing, especially chickloveslotr for being awesome:) Click the button if you have anything to tell me! I'll update soon if you wish;)

--

I lowered my arms from my head, squinting up at him. "What? Questions you say… what of it?"

He grabbed my right arm and hauled me to my feet. "Come inside. Can't have you catching a cold; I don't go well with pancakes covered in snot, if you get me."

I followed him, and closed the door behind me. A spark of anger and irritation shot up inside me when I saw the contents of my bag piled up on the coffee table. The three vinyl records I owned were put neatly on top; yes, House must've noticed which people had recorded them, and I couldn't help but think that those records were actually the main reason he let me in again.

He limped out of the kitchen, where he had poured himself a scotch, and placed himself in the couch. I dumped down on the floor next to it, too scared, really, to sit next to him in the sofa.

"Now then," he said, whacking me apathetically, but light, on my head. "Why did Jimmy hire you to me? Does he think I'm lonely? And how come," he added, "you're in possession of three original vinyl records of The Rolling Stones?"

The last one made me smile. Nevertheless, I had trouble finding answers for the previous two; also the thumping of his cane on my head was getting annoying. "He saw my ad at some notice board I guess… as for the lonely part, how should I know? I don't know you personally."

He smirked, just as creepy as before. "Hah, you've been here a couple of hours, right? You must've done some laundry?"

I nodded, although I couldn't see what this had to with Wilson.

"When you've washed a person's underwear, and still not claim to know them at least a bit, I say you haven't been paying attention to what you were washing. Back to my questions, you didn't answer the last one."

"Got them cheap off at a yard sale a couple of weeks ago," I closed my eyes. "Bet you're sorry you didn't get them first, huh?"

"No, I'm just sorry I met you. Well, that takes care of that… I got what I needed…" He rose and stared down at me, a long sigh emitting from his lips as he did. "I'm going to bed now, and no, you can't come with me."

I didn't say anything. What was the meaning of that? I rose as well, frantically putting my clothes back into my, now inside-out, bag. Actually, I was a bit embarrassed that he had seen my clothes. Like, all of it…

Suddenly, pillow hit me so hard on my head, knocking me out of balance and causing me to fall down on the couch. I yelped in surprise, and heard House snickering wickedly from his bedroom.

"Does this mean I stay?" I asked him.

"Yes," it came from the bedroom. "It means that you stay, at least for the night, doing everything I tell you to do, and it also means that a certain oncologist I so unfortunately happen to know is dead tomorrow."

"Bad for Jimmy then," I muttered, before getting a blanket from the pile on the coffee table.


	5. Chapter 5

Title:

**Title:** Housekeeping

**Summary: **House doesn't want anything for his birthday, but does Wilson listen? Nope, so he gets him an unbearable gift he knows is going to piss House off. Rated 'T' for language. Sorry for the bad and weird title…

**Disclaimer: **I do not own House MD or any of its characters. The ones you don't recognize belong to me. This is purely fictional and there's no need to sue, as I am not making a profit out of this.

**A/N**: Well that takes care of that… we're not nearly at the end yet people, so hang in there! Anything to tell me? Weeeell, just go ahead and click the button then!

--

The next morning, I woke up at eight, determined to wake up House as well; Wilson had written a note on the diagnostician's likes("almost everything") and dislikes("the little that's left") as well as the time he should go to work, and that he never ceased to use the snooze button on his alarm clock less than ninety times each morning.

After making myself a quick breakfast, getting dressed and doing the dishes from last night, I decided it was time to wake my boss up. I took a deep breath before knocking on House's bedroom door. Naturally, he didn't answer.

I found him snoring his head off, tangled up in the sheets. I rolled my eyes and strode over to the windows. I grabbed the two strings that hung down form the shades, counted to three and pulled them. The room was immediately bathed in the morning light, causing House to wake up instantly, flinching and cursing at me for pulling up the shades.

"Mmhpph! Why the hell…?!" He murmured into the pillow, trying to give me an evil stare as I went about opening his closet and fetched out some clean clothes for him.

"Here," I said, throwing them down on the bed. "I'll make you breakfast now."

House sat up, looking around with eyes like streaks. His gaze stopped at a half empty bottle of Vicodin. He popped two of them out and stared at me again. "What, aren't you going to help me dress?"

I raised my eyebrows at the slightly sleazy comment. "From what I heard you say to Dr. Wilson last night, you're quite capable of doing so yourself."

"That doesn't mean I don't want you to help me get my clothes on." He snickered at my deep sigh.

"Pancakes in twenty," I said and went back to the kitchen.

After him complaining rather harshly about my pancakes not being as good as his friend Jimmy's for nearly thirty minutes, I handed him his lunch. He frowned upon the mess in the lunchbox.

"What the hell is this?"

"It's lunch, what does it look like?"

"It looks like you barfed up some-"

"It's salad for fuck's sake!" I rubbed my forehead with my hand. "Do you want me to make something else?"

"Nope. I'll eat anything. Plus, let's spare Wilson the humility of paying for my lunch as well as his funeral tomorrow."

_At the clinic… _

House was annoyed for two reasons that morning; firstly, that wretched girl had awakened him when he was in the middle of a very good dream, including him, Cuddy and an exceptionally good bottle of champagne. Secondly, the damn ducklings kept asking him why he had come in so early. Especially Cameron persecuted him; she had a hot ass, but that was no excuse not to yell at her.

The one thing that held House up the entire morning (there weren't any extremely interesting cases to keep his mind occupied) was the thought of revenge on Wilson.

Retribution came at noon. After lurking around the oncologist's office the last hour, House made out his, sort of, evil plan. He would make it quick and explosive; fiercely opening the door, yell at his friend and make him apologize, that would mean him doing House's clinic duty. He would then go home, sack the wretched girl, whatever her name was, and live happily ever after in his apartment, only accompanied by an overly sized bottle of scotch and Vicodin. Yes, after this, life would be back to normal again. Well, as normal as he could possibly think it to be without it being too weird.

Wilson was sitting quietly in there; reading a magazine and about to take a big bite out of what looked like a very tasty sandwich. He was soon interrupted by House slamming the door open and shouting: "WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING!? A MAID?! DO I LOOK LIKE I NEED SOMEONE TO FOLD MY SOCKS!?"

The oncologist stared at him, sandwich in hand. He didn't know what to say.

"Oh, lost for words, are we? Should've thought about that before you DIDN'T ask me to share my apartment with a total stranger with big feet, and thought I'd be all 'fine, that's a great idea' and then give you a hug, and then perhaps kiss you, because if that was your goal, then I can assure you that-"

Wilson cut him off and got to his feet. The poor sandwich fell to the floor. Under different circumstances, House would've snatched it before it hit the ground and taken a big bite off of it, just to annoy his friend. "What exactly is your problem, House? I thought you needed some help taking care of your place, as you're practical incapable of picking up a duster, make your own food and actually wash the jeans you're wearing."

House took a deep breath and hobbled closer to the desk, in which Wilson felt very secure being behind; House had a menacing look on his face, one that assured the oncologist that if as much as thought of getting away, there would be hell to pay. "She's out, whether you like it or not. You can say I didn't like your present, and I'm returning it."

"No, she's not."

"What do you mean 'she's not'? I decide if she's sacked or not, dammit!"

Wilson laughed. "Sure, if you want to pay her two-hundred bucks."

House's eyes narrowed. "I don't follow."

His friend "In order to sack her, you must pay her two-hundred dollars, which is to say for two months work."

"Two-hundred…" House swallowed. It was not like he didn't have the money; it was just that it was a lot to pay for someone he absolutely despised. He shot Wilson a spiteful glance and hobbled towards the door. Just before existing, he turned to the so-called victor of the conversation: "This isn't over, Jimmy."

The door slammed shut, and Wilson was left to himself. He sat back down in his chair, and mumbled to himself: "Oh, no. I won this one, House. Stella's not going… and that's because you'll see that you need her soon enough."


	6. Chapter 6

Title:

**Title:** Housekeeping

**Summary: **House doesn't want anything for his birthday, but does Wilson listen? Nope, so he gets him an unbearable gift he knows is going to piss House off. Rated 'T' for language. Sorry for the bad and weird title…

**Disclaimer: **I do not own House MD or any of its characters. The ones you don't recognize belong to me. This is purely fictional and there's no need to sue, as I am not making a profit out of this.

**A/N**: Oh no! I realized when looking at chapter 5 that i wrote that House's likes is everything and his dislikes are the little that's left! it's supposed to be the opposite, i hope you understood that and forgive me:)

I know this chapter is bad, but I needed a filler chapter and I'm in the middle of my finals right now, so it's very hard for me to try finding time to write; luckily, I don't have any school the next two days, yay! Promise that the next chapter will be more fun! If you have something to tell me, click the button

--

_At House's apartment…_

"Yeah, I'll tell him… anything else?"

I was on the phone. So far, nine different people had called House's apartment, all with the intention of finding him and telling him exactly what was on their minds, which wasn't anything good. It occurred to me that House had many enemies or unfriendly acquaintances (how could he not, with that attitude); there was particularly one woman who called like gazillion times, each time yelling at me for not knowing where House was. I told her that he was at the clinic he worked at, but then she laughed and said that if he was there, she would be busy beating him up for skipping something she called "clinic duty". Right now, I was still talking to that crazy woman.

"_Yeah, tell him his boss Lisa Cuddy called."_

"Okay, will that be all?" She said yes, goodbye and hung up. I pressed the red button on the phone, and went back into House's bedroom, where I was trying to tidy up a bit. It wasn't easy, mind you; the sheets were practically glued to the bed and weird books and random magazines were dropped around it, so the difficulty of actually approaching the bed was at a maximum.

Half an hour later I managed to get the godforsaken sheet off of the bed, sadly not without ripping them in two, though. What did the man do to it, I thought, holding up the two pieces up. Oh, well, it was just as well that they were going in the bin along with some of the pillows in the couch, which had not seen fresh air in at least six months; it was probably a parasitical insect fest on them already.

I had spent the whole afternoon trying to figure out why the hell House had left me several yellow post-it's on all over with such messages as: "Don't throw away the jam!" or "Question: how do you eat a watermelon?" When finding the last one ("Vicodin rules!"), I figured he just had an impulse he was unable to resist; namely making me wonder why he did it. Dr. Wilson had warned me that House loved making people confused.

"Okay…" I said to myself, after putting on clean sheets on House's bed and walking towards the living room. "Hope he won't beat you up for changing them…"

"Talking to yourself, hm? That's the first sign of a mental illness. Changing what, by the way?" House came hobbling in, throwing his along with his jacket at me. Sheer luck alone let me catch it before it hit the ground.

"Hello," I said, placing the jacket and the cane on the couch. Not really knowing what to say, I made a terrible gesture on making a conversation: "I changed your sheets today…"

"Did you now? How great for you, I hope it was great fun." He dumped down on the couch and stared at the ceiling. My entire being seemed to irritate him to bits. "Dinner. Now."

I didn't say anything; something told me that making a comment now would be suicide. In the kitchen, I fried the chicken I had bought a couple of hours earlier along with some vegetables and a mixture of different tasty spices.

Few minutes later, it was done. I brought it in to the living room for him, and handed him a fork.

"There you go. If you need me, I'll be in the kitchen…" I did sort of a weird wave with my hand, and was about to leave him when he grabbed my arm.

"No, sit down. I need company, and since Wilson's not here, you'll do." He dragged me down beside him, looking at me for a few seconds before turning his attention to his platter.

I felt really awkward sitting there, watching him eat. Of course, I just saw it out of the corner of my eye, I didn't stare; knowing perfectly well myself that it's horribly annoying and creepy when someone watches you eat.

"So…" I said, attempting to make a conversation again. "Did Dr. Wilson die today?"

He coughed. "You wish. I'm making a plan to get back at him, that bastard. He probably thinks he's won this one, but I'll see to that he's wrong." He looked at me up and down and back again. "He said something interesting today, though. I told him I was going to get rid of you the second I got back, but then he said I'd have to pay you two hundred bucks… Why are you only charging a hundred dollars per month anyways?"

I raised my eyebrows. "Because if I charge anything more than that, I can't get a job. Trust me, I've tried. Plus, I needed a place to stay, right? So when Dr. Wilson answered my ad, I said…" I realized with a sudden spark off irritation that I had said too much for my own good.

He smirked. "So when Jimmy hired you to me, you were at his mercy? Aha, so it's not that you want to work for me, it's that you _have_ _to_ in order not to starve. Hm," he grinned again,"this is getting really interesting, actually."

"…" I remained silent for the rest of the evening.


	7. Chapter 7

Title:

**Title:** Housekeeping

**Summary: **House doesn't want anything for his birthday, but does Wilson listen? Nope, so he gets him an unbearable gift he knows is going to piss House off. Rated 'T' for language. Sorry for the bad and weird title…

**Disclaimer: **I do not own House MD or any of its characters. The ones you don't recognize belong to me. This is purely fictional and there's no need to sue, as I am not making a profit out of this.

**A/N**: Thank you all for being awesome! Hope you're not disappointed(this ISN'T the last chapter!!) Phew, this is really fun (but very tiring) to write! I'm sorry if it's a bit weird… writing late at night has that effect on me… As usual, click the button if anything to tell me Updates are coming soon, to a fanfiction site near you :)

--

The next morning went by in a rush, same as the previous. House seemed to be content with his breakfast (cereal, with milk poured over it the second he walked into the kitchen so that it wouldn't be all sloppy during the hour he was in the bathroom; figured he'd be ranting about it for months if I didn't), he frowned at the lunch I had prepared, but didn't say anything until he was about to leave.

"Make a pizza for dinner, and don't go wolfing something down before I get back; you're eating together with me tonight," his cold eyes peered down at me as I handed him his coat.

"And," I sighed, "may I ask why this sudden hospitality?"

"No," he simply said. "You may not."

And then he just left, knowing that I'd be thinking about why the entire day while washing those icky sheets of his (by hand, mind you; of course the bastard had to have expensive ones) and reading those random post-it's.

_At the clinic…_

"Wow," Chase said when he and Cameron came into House's office, finding that the diagnostician was already there. "Right on time two days in a row! I think that broke your old record… Shall I go out and buy you a medal?"

House rose and looked at the pair. "Pray tell, why are you late? I could sack you for that, you know."

Cameron smiled and said in a mocking voice: "I couldn't object on Chase wanting to have sex all morning because he put a tape over my mouth. Good enough reason?"

Chase just stared at her, wide eyed, apparently unable to speak

"That explains the lack of moustache on your upper lip…" House grinned. "And no, that's not nearly good enough reason for coming in late; only time I'd let you come in late because of sex was if I was the one you were sleeping with. Come along now ducklings, we gotta save some bastard from dying."

He hobbled out of his office and into the room next to it. Before following, Chase turned to Cameron. "Did he mean me or you…?"

She shrugged, trying very hard not to think of the image of Chase and House naked in a bed together.

_At lunch…_

"Oh? You're not mad at me anymore?" Wilson smiled up at House as he sat down by his table in the cafeteria, bringing a rather huge sandwich with him.

"Well, technically I am still very disappointed in you," the diagnostician said, sounding very much like a concerned parent, "but I'll ignore it, seeing that I seek information."

Wilson chuckled. House had always been willing to swap anger for info, or gossip. "What do you need?"

"This girl… whatever her name is… why does she demand little payment? She can't live on a hundred bucks a month." House grabbed Wilson's plate while talking, and shoved some of his pasta next to the sandwich on his own.

"You're interested in knowing her background?" Wilson said, slightly irritated over his loss of some very tasty pasta.

"No, I just like to know things... What? Has it something to with her background?"

"Hah, I knew it! Sadly, I can't feed your hunger for info. I don't know. Why don't you ask her?"

"Tried. She came up with some goofy answer."

He rolled his eyes. "How do you know it isn't the truth?"

"Because everybody lies."

"Yes, yes of course…" The rest of their meal went by in silence. Well, at least until house roared over the whole cafeteria: "SORRY ABOUT YOUR ILLNESS, JIMMY! FIVE STD'S YOU SAY?"

House snickered as he left, leaving Wilson alone with all the people in the cafeteria staring frightened at him.

_Back at the apartment…_

I had my music on so loud I almost didn't hear the doorbell. I switched it off when I realized someone was at the door, and prayed like hell it wouldn't be House, who perhaps had decided to come home early and then catching me in the act of possibly abusing his stereo with music so loud on it could smash a mountain to smithereens. I liked to have music on when I did something dreadful, which today was organizing all of my boss' books in order of how interesting they were (how I was supposed to know which books he fancied?). Sadly, House had A LOT of books.

Luckily, it wasn't the diagnostician. A woman with rather large breasts and dark brown hair was standing outside, a firm expression on her face.

"Is Dr. House here?" I recognized the voice. It was that crazed, desperate woman from yesterday!

"Well…" I replied, staring at a point beside her head. "No, I'm sorry; you just missed him… by a couple of hours…"

Her eyes became small suspicious streaks. "Didn't I talk to you yesterday? On the phone?"

"Uhm… Yeah, you did…" I reached out my hand. "I'm Stella, House's maid… I reckon you'd be Dr. Cuddy then? His boss?"

She grabbed my hand and shook it quite hard. I figured this was no woman to joke around with. "I didn't know House had a maid…?"

"Long story," I said, shrugging. "I'd invite you in for tea or something, but you're probably busy…"

I could tell she didn't like me at all. "Yes, you're right. If House swings by, call me." She handed me a card, and said goodbye. I closed the door after her, not sure what to think of our encounter. After a swift break, I went back to my impossible task.

_House's office…_

It was about eight when Cuddy came in. House and his ducklings were very tired of having diagnosed and treated their patient wrong three times before finding the right disease and treated him properly.

"Is this about last night?" House attacked her the second she walked in.

The ducklings sighed over House's attempt to piss off Cuddy. They were tired, they wanted to go home, not listen to House's sleazy comments.

"Very funny House. You weren't at the clinic three hours ago, where were you?" She put her hands on her hips, the don't-fuck-with-me stance.

"Here and there." He grinned. "You've missed me then?"

She laughed. "Sure. I went to your apartment. Your _maid_ told me she didn't know where you were… since when did you get a maid?"

All three ducklings were now sitting properly in their chairs, listening intently at the conversation between the two.

"Since when did you fidget in my private life?

"When you didn't meet for clinic duty, so a long time ago, I suppose." She rolled her eyes. "Just make sure you'll be there tomorrow, or I'll give you three hours more for each hour you're missing out on."

She left, closing the door behind her, leaving the ducklings and House to themselves again. House knew he would be pestered by questions when he came in the next day, but he had plan.

_The apartment again…_

I was just finished with the pizza when House came home. As the night before, he threw his jacket and cane at me, then ordering me to bring him a bottle of beer.

"Dinner done soon?" He shouted to me from the living room.

"Yes, sir, in twenty minutes. It has to go in the oven first…" I replied, cursing loudly at said oven when I burned five of my fingers on it while putting in the pizza.

Exactly twenty minutes later, I brought it, along with two sets of forks and knives plus plates, into the living room, and placed it all on the coffee table.

"Dig in," I said, helping myself to a piece of the veggie pizza. House did the same, sniffing at one, as if he thought I'd placed poison in it.

I remained quiet while we ate, not wanting to bother him with stupid questions or stating the obvious, like "nice weather today" or such standards as "and your day was bad as usual?".

Eventually, he broke the slightly awkward silence between us. "I got something for you."

I swallowed the last bit of my pizza a bit too fast. I started to cough. "D-d-do you? Why i-i-is t-t-that?"

"Stop stammering. You sound like an old sea-dog trying to make a conversation with a seagull."

"Sorry," I replied, wondering what a sea-dog might be. "You say you had something for me?"

He reached out for his jacket, which was neatly placed on the chair beside the coffee table, and pulled out something small and blue.

He handed it to me, and I examined it, disgust shooting up in me as I saw what it was.

A dog collar. With a small name-tag that said "Stella."

"What the…" I looked up at him, fearing that I had somehow ended up working for a sadomasochistic bastard. "Why?"

Then he laughed. He laughed at my expression of sheer horror, only stopping to explain.

"It's not what you think," he said, trying to calm me down. "I'm not that sort of person, and besides, I don't want to have sex with you, at least not… like that."

I ignored the last comment. "Then what do you mean by this? I'm not wearing it." I said through gritted teeth.

"Yes you are, if you want to keep your job. See," he said, smirking at me, " you're coming with me to the clinic tomorrow. I've finally figured something I really need you for; you're going to be my spy."

I sighed, wondering why I accepted it. "And who exactly is it I'm spying on? And what has this to do with the collar and the idea of me wearing it?"

"You're spying on whoever I tell you to spy on. The collar thing is just for fun."

"Tell me again why you're doing this?"

"Because I like to be one step ahead of everyone, especially Wilson."

"So this is just one of your fancies?" I rested my head in my hands. "You want me to sneak around him, find out what color his underwear is, and report back to you so you can pester him with it?"

He grinned. "Exactly."

I sighed again. I knew I had signed up for something random when I accepted Wilson's offer.


	8. Chapter 8

Title:

**Title:** Housekeeping

**Summary: **House doesn't want anything for his birthday, but does Wilson listen? Nope, so he gets him an unbearable gift he knows is going to piss House off. Rated 'T' for language. Sorry for the bad and weird title…

**Disclaimer: **I do not own House MD or any of its characters. The ones you don't recognize belong to me. This is purely fictional and there's no need to sue, as I am not making a profit out of this.

**A/N**: All my readers' different kinds of awesome make me smile. Hope you're not disappointed! Happy reading:) review if you feel like it

--

House had said the previous night that I shouldn't bother waking up at an unholy hour that morning. Nothing I could say or do wouldn't change his mind him sleeping till _way_ past ten AM and going to work _way_ past one PM, but I woke up at four and couldn't sleep anymore(House was snoring, there, I said it), so I tucked away my covers, and put on my mp3 player for some soothing music. Just when my head lolled to down at my chest four hours later and I finally dipped over the edge of twilight zone, the music was wrenched from my ears.

I hastily looked up to find House standing over me, holding my earphones, snickering at my startled look.

"Ah," I said, trying very hard not to look in his eyes (to be frank, they scared me to bits; it seemed as if they were staring right into my thoughts). "A good morning to you..."

He snorted. "A morning is never good. You ought to remember that kid…" he slumped down next to me and flipped on the TV. The fact that I was still in my jammies made me a bit nervous (weren't exactly my best pair if you get me; a bit see-through here and there out of old age and… usage.)

"Why is a morning never good?" I asked, trying to find an excuse to go to the bathroom and clean up the mess I currently was.

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, because it's so fantastic and brilliant," he replied, a sarcastic tilt to his voice. Then he turned serious again. "Because it's simply a morning. That's why. Now, run along, make me pancakes."

"You're the boss," I muttered, wandering off to do what he had told me. I tried to forget last night, when he nearly had forced me to clean the toilet with my toothbrush, hitting me on my shin with his cane when I refused. I quickly found out that hiding, or simply going out of the room while he was getting drunker by the minute, was the best way to deal with him anyways.

About two hours later, when we were both (cough, only me, cough) properly dressed and House had had enough of complaining about my pancakes yet again, we were ready to go to this clinic of his.

"One more thing, though…" He turned to me before locking the door behind us, dangling the dog collar right in front of my eyes. "Do I need to say anything more?"

I sighed and grabbed the bloody thing, putting it on. "There," I said, hoping nobody was looking at the situation. "Happy?"

House grinned, and limped down the stairs. "Well, come on now!"

I breathed heavily in, knowing that I was going to hate every bit of the day.

After a very sickening ride on his bike (having to wrap my arms around him not to fall off was a bit awkward as well), we finally stopped at the godforsaken clinic.

Walking through the lobby was a bit of a trial; receiving stars from patients and doctors made my insides twitch. Once in the elevator (thank god no one besides me or the weird and slightly creepy person I called my boss were in there!), House turned to me.

"Listen, I want you to be as disgusting and sarcastic as you can to my... err, underlings." He grinned. "A servant should act like his or her master, don't you think?"

"No," I simply said, not knowing if I this day could get any worse.

"Nobody asked for your opinion. That's another thing; don't speak unless spoken to. Now, here we are."

The elevator stopped at the third floor, and House stepped out. I walked behind him, perfectly aware of my resemblance to a dog tailing her owner. I spotted Dr. Wilson when House stopped at a door. I mimicked "Help me, for the love of god, or else I'll die" when I caught his gaze. He looked puzzled and when he finally decided it was best to go check the situation out (the man had a really slow mind for an oncologist, I guess), House's head popped out from the entrance to the room, looked from Wilson to me, then rolled his eyes and dragged me inside.

I found myself standing in what couldn't possibly be anything else than his office. As his apartment, it was gloomily decorated, diverse selections of books and magazines placed right about everywhere. What caught my attention, though, was a huge red and grey tennis ball. House, sitting in his chair behind the desk, saw me staring at it and grinned. I shrugged thinking about the number of people that had suffered severe head injuries as a result of House throwing it at them.

I dumped down in one of the chairs in front of his desk. "Don't tell me, I'll be cleaning this as well?"

He twirled his cane between two of his fingers. "Oh, hadn't thought of that, but since you said it, I'll say yes."

I groaned. Although I shouldn't complain about cleaning (after all, that's what a maid is all about), but having cleaned the lot of House's stuff, I knew that the most of it was either very dirty or much neglected.

The sound of a door being opened and closed in the other room made House stand up. "Oh great, I bet their back from their little trip to Cuddy, telling her that I'm nowhere to be found. Well, I'll go take a look at today's patient…"

I rose to follow him, but when I reached the door to the other room; he slammed it in my face, obviously not wanting me to follow him.

_Great, _I thought, putting my hands on my hip,_ should I just wait for him to come back… or… no, strolling around the hospital is way more fun!_

I guess I had adopted some of House's mischievousness.

--

**A/N: **Phew, here you go! And no, I'm not planning on turning her in to House, so don't be afraid that it'll happen!


	9. Chapter 9

Author: Sorafrosty

**Title:** Housekeeping

**Summary: **House doesn't want anything for his birthday, but does Wilson listen? Nope, so he gets him an unbearable gift he knows is going to piss House off. Rated 'T' for language. Sorry for the bad and weird title…

**Disclaimer: **I do not own House MD or any of its characters. The ones you don't recognize belong to me. This is purely fictional and there's no need to sue, as I am not making a profit out of this.

**A/N**: I'll try to make the chapters longer, as you requested, although it's hard to come up with ideas) Hope you enjoy, and review if you feel like it. Updates will come soon if you wish

--

_In the diagnostics room. It has been twenty minutes since House arrived…_

"So, the conclusion is that none of you idiots who, by the way, _pretend to be doctors_ know anything about this patient that might be useful in order to save his life?! You just believed what he told you like naïve fools, didn't you?! Once again, YOU IDIOTS!"

"Actually," Chase said, "we pestered him with questions so gruesome only you would think of them…"

"Ah," House said, his voice dangerously low and husky, a sure sign of him becoming very angry. "Then why the hell haven't we figured it out yet?! He's hiding something, I know it!"

Foreman groaned; House was angry because they had absolutely no theories on the patient's condition, and now he was taking it all out on them. Chase seemed unaffected, but Foreman himself and Cameron both looked at House with pleading eyes. They had already tested out several theories (in which all didn't work) before he came, and House was not pleased with the patient's lack of progress on getting better from the different kinds of treatment they had been giving him.

Cameron was about to suggest a disease at random (just to calm him down), when a loud tapping on the glass pane, made them all, including House, look up.

Outside the diagnostics room stood Cuddy, holding a young woman with short spiky blonde hair by her arm. The blonde waved her other arm, the one not in Cuddy's clutches, in a sort of greeting at House.

* * *

I couldn't believe Cuddy found me and dragged me back to House. It was none of her business anyway, what I had done (I had found a marker pen and drawn a random picture of House on a white board in the hall, giving him a bubble over his head that said I HEART MY VICODIN), Dr. Wilson had seemed to find it funny enough when he passed by, but when Cuddy arrived, she just shot a spiteful glance at me, and dragged me back to House.

Now we were standing outside the room next to the diagnostician's office, in which he and (I could only guess) his underlings were in, staring at me and Cuddy. I could tell she was angry; I had seen the same lines in her forehead when she talked about House at his doorstep that time, and it seemed that they weren't exactly the best of friends.

She opened the door, shoving me inside. "House; hallway. Now."

He smiled. "But Cuddy, I thought sex in public places was illegal?"

She rolled her eyes, and closed the door, waiting for him to follow. I House caught my gaze as he went out after her. He didn't look pleased (I wasn't expecting him to be either, but what I had expected was not for him to find out; I was restless, and if had wanted me to stay in his office, he should've said so, not insinuated it) and gave me a look that said "I'll deal with you later". I shrugged at the image of him forcing me to vacuum clean the ceiling or something else impossible (ever tried vacuuming the ceiling? It's not easy. At all).

So, there I was, alone in a room with House's… somethings (weren't sure whether to call them underlings, co-workers or employees). A woman with long brown hair stared at me with big eyes. At her left, a blonde guy with a pencil in his mouth looked sideways at a man at his right. This guy squinted at me with brown, yet cold, eyes.

"Uh… Hello," I said. None of them reacted. I rolled my eyes, and dragged out a chair and, in attempt to sit down, stumbled in my own feet, crashed my head down on the glass table and landing face down under it. Surprisingly, the only thing that hurt was my feet.

I stumbled up, ignoring the blood that gushed from my nose (and which had splattered out on the table when I hit it). "Right," I said, wiping my nose fairly clean with my sleeve. "I'll just sit here…and you just pretend I'm not here."

The woman gave me a comforting look, though I figured it was more a sly one. "Are you a friend of doctor House?"

I raised my eyebrows. A friend? Of him? Didn't know he had any besides Dr. Wilson, I thought, remaining silent.

After a while (a while? Bah, it felt like nine hours because those three weird people kept staring at me) House came back in. I had heard him yelling to Cuddy out in the hall (of course after she had yelled at him for a good five minutes), but he seemed to be in a better frame of mind.

"Now we know Cuddy isn't in a good mood," House said smirking at his employees before turning his attention to me, obviously noticing my bloody nose. "Didn't think the ducklings would beat you up the second I left…" He chuckled "Would've expected it two minutes later, but…"

"Who's she?" The blonde guy demanded, chewing on his pen again (geez, you would think they were engaged the way he chewed on it).

House ignored him completely. "Now, about this patient of ours… Any more ideas for what he could have… BESIDES the nine thousand other diseases we've already ruled out?" He pointed at the guy with those hard eyes. "If you mention _that_, and you know what, 'cause I can't take saying it anymore, I'll whack you so hard, you'd think you were a worn out snare drum."

"Anticoagulant Lupus actually seems to fit most of symptoms…" the brown haired woman said, a "that's a fact" look on her face.

"Why didn't you say so before, then? Go do a KCT, all of you…" House twirled his cane between two of his fingers. He reminded me of a skilled drummer (he made me think of drummers with that snare drum thing) I had seen once; the same sort of arrogance. "Unless," he smirked, "Foreman wants to go get a viper…"

The guy with the hard eyes scowled at him, but got up and went to do as House had said, along with the two others. I swallowed; with them gone, he'd probably hit me from here to Texas with the cane.

"Hey," he said, to get my attention. I reluctantly looked at him. "Getting on Cuddy's bad side, huh? Well, you better be glad you're not tailing her."

"Tailing…" I said, raising my eyebrows in suspicion. "Is this that insane idea of spying again?"

"You bet. I mentioned Wilson last night, yeah? Well, lets just say that the color of his underwear doesn't interest me, I know all about that anyway, but what he's up to does."

I sighed. "So Dr. Wilson's up to something?"

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. He sent me you, avoiding my questions, lying, sort of winning discussions... There's got to be _something_! James Wilson doesn't lie, much less wins discussions."

"I'm not doing this for free, you know," I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

"This is the toilet thing again all over again, right? You know, cleaning one with your toothbrush isn't half bad. Not that I know, of course, but judging from the look on Wilson's face when he lost that bet, I'd say there are much worse things to clean… still not interested? No? Fine then. You choose dinner every Friday?"

I was actually thinking more of a money thing, but if I started that discussion there was no doubt I would lose (probably some bruises on my shin when I did). "Can I choose something that contains, for example… vegetables?"

He snorted. "The answer is a resounding 'of course you can't, don't act as stupid as you look'."

I gave up. "Fine. What do you want me to do?"

He smirked. "Giving up, huh? Good. I want you to wriggle out of him what's going on."

"Does it matter if he fidgets or not?" I asked, wondering why I said it anyways.

"Tie him to a chair, torture him with blackboards and your nails if you have to, I don't care, just get it out if him."

I thought for a second. "May I ask-"

"No," he smirked, waving me out of the door. "You may not."

--

I am so sorry if the medical stuff here was wrong or badly stated... i am not a med. student nor a doctor, but i tried to find at least something i could understand and put into here... please don't kick me for getting it wrong


	10. Chapter 10

Author: Sorafrosty

**Title:** Housekeeping

**Summary: **House doesn't want anything for his birthday, but does Wilson listen? Nope, so he gets him an unbearable gift he knows is going to piss House off. Rated 'T' for language. Sorry for the bad and weird title…

**Disclaimer: **I do not own House MD or any of its characters. The ones you don't recognize belong to me. This is purely fictional and there's no need to sue, as I am not making a profit out of this. I do, however, own Stella (or Housekeeper girl).

**A/N**: If you look up the word 'amazing' in a dictionary, I'm sure you'll find all your names listed! Oh, and this is another filler chapter I guess… I hope it isn't bad. In any case, I promise the next one will be better!D Updates will come soon to a fanfiction site near you Review if you feel like it:)

--

_Outside House's office…_

Luckily I spotted Wilson the second I was pushed out of House's office. It must've seemed weird if someone was watching; being dizzy from the loss of blood, I stumbled out of there, and when spotting Wilson, I swaggered in that direction, following him to the elevator.

Hastily I got in to the elevator after him, and when the doors closed, I realized that it was only the two of us standing in there. I cleared my throat and attempted to speak, only discovering that I managed to spit more blood on my shirt. _Oh, great_, I thought_, I sincerely hope House has chlorine at his place… I need to wash this filthy… Oh god, don't vomit onto his tie… which by the way is terrible… who the hell came up with combo pink stripes and green dots anyway?! _

I didn't try to say anything after this, but it seemed as if Wilson had finally notice that I was there when we were down on the first floor and he was about to leave (like I said earlier, the man had a slow mind for an oncologist).

"Oh my… how did you…" He attempted to ask, before frowning, seemingly noticing me almost falling over when walking after him out of the elevator. "Did House do this to you?!"

"No, no, no," I replied, trying to keep my mind on the subject (the blood around my nose was starting to dry, and it felt rather icky, and then I started to think about… other icky things; like parasites and other blood sucking things). "I sort of did this to myself… not that I like hurting myself, but I tripped and stuff…"

He looked puzzled, obviously wondering why I was talking to him and not in some bathroom trying to wash off the blood. Before I managed to say anything, realization came to his mind and he smiled at me. Not a friendly smile, but a sly one. Like the smile you see on people when they suddenly understand that they are about to win in a game of chess.

"But he did send you, didn't he? Well, tell him to talk to me if he wonders about something. He's too old for games, although he is what he is."

He left me, leaving me to take the elevator up again alone. Although the dizziness soon became overwhelming, I found that Wilson was not an easy person to spy on.

_House's office…_

"What," House reacted sort of unsurprised when I told him, "did I not make myself clear? SPY ON WILSON. NOW. There. You got it. Go do that."

I rolled my eyes, feeling rather stupid there I stood, in front of his desk, sort of on display for him with my blood caked shirt and face. Every time I tried to be serious, or look him in the eye (not an easy task, I tell you) his lips were dragged upwards into a smile (not a heartwarming one, of course not, it seemed both psychologically and physically impossible for him to do that) and he started to laugh, so it took a while before I managed to recollect Wilson's exact words.

"It's a bit hard. As I told you, he said you should talk to him yourself." He looked sort of angered, so I added: "Don't hit me; I'm just the messenger… and not a good one at that…"

He sighed, flinging staples at me. "Fine. I'm hungry anyways. It's lasagna for dinner today, and you're making it. I trust you did grocery shopping for all of next year yesterday? Good. Come on, let's go."

We made our way to the elevator and out on the parking lot. The bike ride back to his place was as bad as the one to the clinic; he sped up on purpose, making me clinch to him like… well, something that clinches to something else really hard. Naturally, like before, I found this sort of revolting, having to break personal space like that. Another thing was that just before I had gotten on the bike with him, I had said that I would rather take the bus. He had sighed, rolled his eyes and said that if I didn't get on behind him, he would introduce me to the business en of his cane. I said no more, and did as I was told.

_Back at House's apartment…_

Once back at the gloomy place that was my boss' apartment, I pillaged through my bag until found a clean shirt to put on. While washing it in the sink, I found out that it really looked like House had hit me; the blood had found it's way around my lips and chin, plus it was smudged all over my face anyway. My nose wasn't broken (it would certainly have hurt if it was), but I still felt sort of stupid for having splattered blood on that table (what if some cleaning lady came in there tonight and saw that? if she knew how he was, she might think that House's wits finally had gone bye-bye and killed someone in public with nobody noticing).

After having put on a clean shirt, I went on to making dinner. House didn't have any of those pasta plates you put between the actual lasagna, so I improvised by putting more cheese there instead. While I put the lasagna in the oven, I heard House started to play his piano. His fingers touched the keys gracefully for a moment or two, before breaking in to a melody. I recognized it after a few chords as 'Trouble' by Coldplay. Still keeping to the kitchen, I starting to hum along (well, at least till House yelled that I should shut up).

"Where's my dinner? I'll start to sing if I have to wait any longer… " He asked and said, actually very unfriendly, from the living room. I was just taking it out of the oven (careful not to burn my fingers halfway off this time; said oven wouldn't get the best of me again), and setting it on the tiled thing beside the stove to let it to cool off.

Suddenly, I noticed that he had stopped playing. Then I heard him speak from right behind me. "You _will_ get out of Wilson why he is behaving like this."

--

Well, that takes care of that! Lets see now, tomorrow's my last day at school, and then my summer holiday is starting! That means I'll get lots of writing done, and faster updates:)


	11. Chapter 11

Author: Sorafrosty

**Title:** Housekeeping

**Summary: **House doesn't want anything for his birthday, but does Wilson listen? Nope, so he gets him an unbearable gift he knows is going to piss House off. Rated 'T' for language. Sorry for the bad and weird title…

**Disclaimer: **I do not own House MD or any of its characters. The ones you don't recognize belong to me. This is purely fictional and there's no need to sue, as I am not making a profit out of this. I do, however, own Housekeeper girl (or Stella).

**A/N**: Okay, here we are! Perhaps you'll find this chapter a bit cracky, but oh well! Happy reading, review if you feel like it and updates will come if you wish (I'll update anyway, but it's more fun if people like it)

--

The next morning, I quickly found out that of all the methods to waking House I had tried out so far, the best one was to poke him with his own cane, whilst slipping a cup of coffee into his hand (while it tried to hit me, by the way). Pulling up the shades was another and a more effective one at that, but it resulted in more gruesome critique of breakfast, whilst the latter only produced minor attempts at stealing my Rolling Stones records.

"Noooo," House muttered into the pillow after I had given him the coffee (he had managed to spill it on himself; not my fault if he got second degree burns whilst trying to hit me with the cup). "I fell asleep at what… four or something… I like to sleep… and I need to…NOW. Go away!"

"Sorry, but Dr. Wilson said you had to be up at eight, so…" I sighed and dumped the clothes I was holding onto his bed. "Perhaps if you tried to get to bed earlier…"

That seemed to had done the trick; he sat up and looked at me with blue, bloodshot eyes. "Don't tell me what to do, kid!"

I raised my eyebrows. "I was merely suggesting-"

"Yeah, yeah, and I don't need it. Who asked for your opinion? Speak when spoken to, got it?"

"I thought…" I stopped mid-sentence, not wanting to argue. House smirked in triumph, and I went into the kitchen (cereal for House, bread and some jam for me).

House had the impression (sadly, he was right; I didn't have much choice) that I would go with him to the clinic again. He didn't seem to get Wilson out of his mind (not like he had a crush on the oncologist, but you know what I mean). Whenever I asked him something very ordinary (like "do you want me to wash your shirt along with the… four million others laying on the… kitchen table…?) he would answer with something completely different (like "he knows this ticks me off! He _knows_ that I want to know…"). I replied with a simple sigh and a shrug of my shoulders (and yes, I did wash the four million shirts).

Right now, I was standing in front of House's desk (for the tenth time that day), with him refusing to let my green eyes leave his intense blue ones while we (he) talked.

"You're useless. Wilson slammed his door in your face this time, eh? That's no excuse for not doing what you're told. What are you, some kind of goldfish? I SAID YOU SHOULD CLIMB IN HIS WINDOW AT NIGHT IF YOU HAD TO!!"

I sighed; trying hard not to show my irritation (figured would be bad for my résumé if I had killed my previous boss). "Again, all he's said is that _you_ should be the one talking to him, not me."

He rolled his eyes and pointed at something behind me. There was said oncologist on his way to his office, looking all happy, only stopping to say hello to some nurse. "Look, look! There's Boy Wonder oncologist right there!"

"You expect me to do something about it RIGHT NOW?!" I said, nearly exploding. "This has gone too far… I may be making your meals, but I'm not feeding your nearly insane ideas."

"Go. Out. There. Right. This. Instance."

He was starting to really bug me. Not like "oh, now I'm gonna poke you with a stick annoying", but like "I'm telling you what to do, and _yes_, you HAVE to do it!" My temper was fading away at a rapid speed. I blamed the damned oncologist.

Then I thought of an idea. One that would be a bit weird, and perhaps a bit evil, but to get an end to this, I had to do it.

"Alright. Gimme your cane," I said, holding out my hand.

He looked suspicious (couldn't blame him). "Why? What do you want with it?"

"Just give it to me."

He barked a laugh. "Yeah, so you can beat me with it… Forget it, Bigfoot, you're not getting this."

I sighed. "Fine, but then you'll never know what I was going to do with it…"

The cane was in my hand before I could say "I like apple jam" (which I don't). I bowed in thanks, and went out the door. Searching the hall for Wilson, I thought about whether I should do it or not. I came to that it was too late; fully aware of House standing in the doorway to his office, carefully watching my every move.

I sneaked up behind the oncologist; there he went strolling happily to back to his office.

"Hey, Dr. Wilson," I said, to get his attention. He stopped and turned halfway around to see who said his name, but was interrupted by me hitting him on his back with House's cane.

"Tell me what's going on, or GO. TALK. TO. YOUR. DAMNED. FRIEND!!" I bellowed, hitting him hard with the cane for each word, throughout the hall (luckily, no one but me, Wilson and House were there).

"OUCH! Stop it already! Why?! OUCH!!" Wilson tried to defend himself, but I kept hitting my frustration with House on him (and that states how much pain he was under at the moment). I could hear House laughing his head off somewhere behind me, but I planned on torturing Wilson a bit more. He headed for the elevator, and I followed, hitting him all over (not hard, but enough to make him feel it).

After he had managed to get to safety, which was good for him, I turned to House, who was currently having problems on keeping on his feet (not because he was lacking his cane, but because he was laughing so hard).

"Well… Wilson was always the one to take a good beating… Okay, I'll go talk to him myself," He managed to say between the laughs. I rolled my eyes and gave him his cane back.

"I'll stay here," I said, walking into the diagnostics room

"Don't expect me to bring you lunch," House said, before I closed the door behind me. "No doubts dear Wilson went to the cafeteria after your little disagreement… you just stay here and take care of my lackeys when they come back from… wherever they went."

I sighed. "What am I supposed to say to them?"

He smirked. "Whatever springs into your mind."

And with that he left me to myself. I sat down at the table (careful not to trip this time), wondering if Wilson had bruises from the severe beating or not.

* * *

House chuckled to himself in the elevator; Wilson sure had taken quite a beating from the wretched girl… Who knew she had such a temper? The kind that waited until the last minute (and worse occasion) to explode.

Yes, he found Wilson sitting in the cafeteria, looking slightly shaken and frightened. House tried not to laugh as he approached the table, grabbing his friend's coffee as he sat down. Apart from frightened, Wilson looked very angered.

"This has gone too far," he said, grabbing his coffee back. "You told her to beat me up!?"

House leaned back, a smug grin on his lips. "Nope, she acted on her own accord. Weird thing. Never thought she was able to… now, come on, don't be like that…"

Wilson frowned, not taking his eyes off the diagnostician on the other side of the round table. The latter grabbed the oncologist's coffee again. "Now tell me why you've been acting so insanely weird lately… that would be more than usual."

Wilson sighed, a bit sad by the loss of the coffee. "What do you mean?"

"Stop it. You know very well what I mean, and don't pretend you don't. You've never hired a maid to me before, you've never won a discussion with me and watching you shake of lies like an experienced liar, does seem a bit suspicious, yeah?"

"Is it not possible that I've… taken a liking to the things you mentioned?"

House's eyes became wary streaks. "Everybody lies, and that includes you, Boy Wonder oncologist."

"Okay, okay… you really wanna know? You were withering away in that dusty old apartment, and I thought it would be easier to hire a maid than to convince you to clean the place. As for me winning discussions, I've learned form the best, yeah?"

Although House could sense the flattery, he was not amused. "I can take care of me myself."

Wilson shook his head. "Remember two weeks ago? When I found you sleeping on your couch? I'm sure I saw a layer of dust on you, which clearly states that you can't. You know, you should be grateful I give a damn in the first place. It's not healthy to live like that, and you're a doctor... after all."

The diagnostician raised his eyebrows, not wanting to admit that the oncologist was right. Heck, he'd rather admit that he starred in a porn movie with Chase than telling Wilson he had a point. "Humph. You don't say."

Wilson smiled. "I do. Now, I don't suppose you want to say thank you?"

It was House's turn to smirk. "Nope, not a chance."

"Thought so. Do you mind giving me my coffee back?"

House looked at the coffee, then rose and emptied it over Wilson's head before leaving, content with the answers.

_Meanwhile..._

I felt my heart in my throat when I saw House's lackeys entering the diagnostics room. I thought he'd be kidding when he said they would come back that quick, and now I didn't know what to do. They seemed to have noticed me before they came in, and the guy with the hard eyes (Foreman, I think he was called) frowned at me when he sat down by the table.

"Err… I'm probably in your way now…" I started, trying not to look at any of them. The blonde guy couldn't take his eyes from me, but he continued to chew on that goddamned pen (a new one this time, I noticed).

"That's true," Foreman said, clearly stating that he didn't want me there. "We're doctors. We don't have time for kids running around here! Who are you anyway?"

The woman with the long brown hair smiled at me. "You _are_ a friend of House, right?"

I sighed, not wanting to answer (why should I, anyway? I mean, let them do the talking and see for themselves).

Foreman tried starting talking about some patient (many words and fancy doctor phrases I didn't understand), but the blonde pen chewer interrupted him by almost jumping in his seat and saying: "AHA!"

"What?" The brown haired woman said, looking puzzled at him. "What's up with you?"

He smirked at Foreman, and leaned back in his seat, perfectly fine by knowing something the others didn't. "I know who she is."

Foreman rolled his eyes, clearly expecting something else. "So do I. She's a woman in her thirties, secretary-"

"Not the patient, _her_!" He pointed at me. I noticed by his accent that he was Australian, and figured that was what i would call him from now on (if I didn't know his name). "She's House's _maid_!"

The brown haired woman and Foreman looked from the Australian to me and back again. "Ah, yeah, she could be..." The woman said, looking at me with examining eyes. "But how do we know that this _maid_ is a woman?"

I rested my head in my hands. Were they really so thick (what I've seen of doctors lately, I'd say they were either less intelligent, slow or insane. Guess which category these guys came under)? sitting here speculating while some poor woman possibly died?

"Because most of them are, Cameron... and if she's House's maid-" the Australian began, before noticing the dog collar. "Oh... look at that..."

"Don't you have anything better to do," I interrupted, wanting to hit him with something hard (House's cane was sadly not around, if it was, I would have given him the same treatment as Wilson). "Haven't you got some patient to take care of?"

"Yes, we do," Foreman said, with an annoyed look at the other two. "So if we could just focus on-"

"Focusing on cases are important, Foreman, but gossip and rumors are more fun, don't you agree?" Suddenly House's voice filled the room. He grinned as his lackeys, winking at me, as if to say "aren't they stupid?"

He dumped down in a chair and turned to me. "Come here. You're gonna to write on the white board while I talk, then clean my office... then find out something nice for dinner..."

The woman (Cameron, i think) gave Foreman a "what did I tell you" look.

I grabbed an innocent marker that rolled around on the table, and went to write on the godforsaken white board.

--

There you go… and yes, woot for school ending, and not a minute too soon! Anyways, I think it was about time to let Housekeeper girl snap… nobody's perfect! Oh, and this is a bit sad, but there's a few chapters left!:(


	12. Chapter 12

Author: Sorafrosty

**Title:** Housekeeping

**Summary: **House doesn't want anything for his birthday, but does Wilson listen? Nope, so he gets him an unbearable gift he knows is going to piss House off. Rated 'T' for language. Sorry for the bad and weird title…

**Disclaimer: **I do not own House MD or any of its characters. The ones you don't recognize belong to me. This is purely fictional and there's no need to sue, as I am not making a profit out of this. I do, however, own Housekeeper girl (or Stella).

**A/N**: Okay, okay… I know I should've wrote more and updated more often as I promised, but fact is, the lack of Internet has been overwhelmingly annoying, so I have not been able to update. This chapter is extremely short and another filler. I know you guys hate that, and I'm deeply sorry for any inconvenience. Onward to the story! Review if you feel like it and, as always, happy reading!:)

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The thing I had dreaded the whole week I had been working for House, had suddenly arrived; the weekend. I mean, what the hell would I do? He surely didn't go to work in the weekends, and I had work to do (House's place was… well, I won't lament on that; most areas of it was, quite frankly, extremely and utterly gross)! It would be hell in there! He would insult me to pieces and make me snap again, all to his amusement, then he'd criticize my food and… the worst part; being in the same room as him. The thought of having to talk to him, be around him for a WHOLE day, made me sick. It was all different when he was working and I was left at the apartment.

Now, thinking the resigning thought again, I was standing in the lobby of the clinic, waiting for House to be finished with… whatever he was doing. I had finally finished cleaning the damn office, writing down all those weird stuff House and his lackeys were pondering on (every time I spelt something wrong, which was about every time I tried to spell something, the guy called Foreman would stand up and protest. At least until House dragged the chair away from him when he attempted to sit down, causing Foreman to fall on his ass of course, and giving me a sour look, as if it was my fault) and I was actually very tired. All I wanted to do was sleep (eleven hours of just that would do me good).

"Ah, there's the dog… right where I left it," House said, approaching me from the elevator. He looked sort of smug, so I guessed either he had something insane in store for me or Dr. Wilson, or he had solved some weird diagnostic case. He tossed his jacket, backpack and empty carton coffee jug at me. I had to really lean far back to catch it.

"It's a stew or other for dinner," I said, as I hurried after him out to the parking lot and to his bike (okay, so I hurried after a limping person, it does sound strange). He was hobbling quite fast, mind you, and I, having to carry his backpack and all, wasn't moving very fast (what was in that bag anyways? Big and heavy stones?)

"What's other?" He asked, apparently very uninterested in the subject.

I held out his jacket for him to put on. "It's… you don't want to know what's in it, but it tastes nice."

He peered down at me, his eyes small scary streaks. "Oh? Make it then, and let's see."

He grabbed his bad leg and swung it over the bike, then made sort of a jerk with his head towards me, suggesting that I should (ordering me to) get on the bike behind him. I did just that.

The 'other' I was talking about, was some sort of stew/weird mashed thingy a friend had taught me to make. It contained various strange ingredients (like apples, sausages, beans, curry paste and… fried onions), but it tasted pretty good, and I was an expert on making it, if I may say so myself (wasn't that hard to make; you just put it all into a pot and then try not to singe it).

I wrapped my arms (reluctantly) around House's waist. He chuckled when he sensed that I found the situation uncomfortable. "You know, you could go lower," he laughed, indicating the position of my hands.

"Just drive," I said, ignoring the comment and squeezing my eyes shut.

After having received a full update on House's day, without wanting to (which contained many snarky and very inappropriate comments on his boss and lackeys, not to mention the patient they had been treating), I started making the dinner.

House had had a good enough day, although Cuddy had commented on him bringing the wretched girl with him to work. When he asked her what was wrong with it, she had given him the infamous 'Cuddy stare', which should (by her standards) have made him crawl at her feet while apologizing and begging for forgiveness, but only made him snort of annoyance. She had taken a deep breath, trying very hard not to show her real reaction and just strolled off, leaving him there to be the victor of their argument.

He was currently sitting slouched on the couch, waiting for the girl to be finished with his dinner. She had called the stuff she was currently making for 'other'. On a different occasion he might have persuaded her to tell him what the dish consisted of, but not tonight. He was still curious about her. Sure, she was a pain, and her cooking was… special, but her low pay rate made him interested. _I'll use the weekend to force it out of her_, he thought while watching the clumsy (stupid) girl come into the living room with a bowl of that mysterious 'other stew', nearly tripping and spilling it all over the couch.

"Here," she said, handing him the bowl. "If it tastes like shit, don't blame me, it's the recipe-"

"Shut it and hand me the fork," he cut her off, holding out a hand for it. She gave it to him, muttered something about that she had to take some clothes out of the dryer, and left him to himself.

The stew was probably the strangest thing he'd ever eaten.

--

Yes, another filler, don't hit me for it, please! but I promise the weekend for those two will be... interesting. No, i am certainly not planning on them falling in love (who would want that anyway?), so don't be afraid that that'll happen! Also I promise to write and update fast!:)

PS: I got a sequel for this one almost ready in my head... any thoughts?


	13. Chapter 13

Author: Sorafrosty

**Title:** Housekeeping

**Disclaimer: **I do not own House MD or any of its characters. The ones you don't recognize belong to me. This is purely fictional and there's no need to sue, as I am not making a profit out of this. I do, however, own Housekeeper girl (or Stella).

**A/N**: The end was hard to write, I tell you! But don't worry, nobody is going to die! And thanks for happy response to sequel idea! That'll come soon after this one is finished or so I hope:) if you like, review afterwards and tell me how you like the end of this! Happy reading!

--

He didn't tell me if he liked the stew or not. All he did was ask (order, command, whichever you prefer) for another bowl of it. I think I kind of took it as a compliment, but then he told me, sort of harshly, that if I thought that as a compliment on my food, I was actually more stupid and ignorant than I looked.

"What's wrong with it then?" I sort of shook it over his head (not with the bowl upside down and its remaining contents falling out on him, though I was tempted to, mind you).

He raised his eyebrows. "I could tell you, but that would be stating the obvious, and that's just as irritating as unnecessary. Just fill another bowl up. Go do that now."

The tone of his voice was less bossy then ever; I figured he must be tired. Nevertheless I got him that second bowl of other (before eating up my own while in the kitchen).

"Took you long enough… no, no wandering back to the safety of my kitchen, sit down, kid… once again the lack of Wilson will cause you to be my source of… amusement.." House turned his attention to his new bowl of other.

I didn't like it when he said that. Everything was so awkward (and from my side, forced). I never thought of anything good to say (something told me that this was not the guy for general, or sick for that matter, fun facts).

"Are you doing something this weekend?" I managed to force out, having held it in for when he was soon to be finished with eating the stew.

House suddenly stopped eating, the fork just outside his mouth. He looked at me suspiciously before answering. "Why does that interest you?"

I sighed, knowing if I didn't place my words right, he would take it as an insult, or worse, intrude. "I… uh, have to clean more, you know… like, the state of your bathroom is… filthy, and I should overlook the oven. I would probably just get in your way by doing, err… all of this," I waved my arms wildly in the air for emphasis, "and you would surely find the noise of a vacuum cleaner highly annoying if you… err," I desperately searched for something for him to do that could easily be disturbed by the sound of just that, "listened to music…"

This seemed to amuse him. The creepy grin was once again on his face, and I didn't like it. He put the bowl down on the table (I guess he was done with it) and locked his gaze with mine. "Work on your manipulation," House said. It felt like he was scanning my thoughts like an anti-virus program on a computer, checking for stuff he didn't like. "You're worse than Wilson, you know that? Always going around stuff instead of confronting… ah, well, I guess you could improve, but it's too late for Wilson… But don't worry," he said, smirking again, "I don't have any plans. Cuddy had another customer I'm afraid... oh, I forgot, she prefers to call them 'clients'..."

"I wasn't trying to mani-" I began, although a rather meek defense.

"Oh yes you were; you're talking to the master of the matter here, so don't try to pull anything off."

Not wanting to make this into an argument (I would lose anyway) I got up and went into House's bedroom. I had not been able to clear a pathway to… well, anything in there before we left for the clinic this morning and as an excuse to leave him in the living room, I decided to do it now.

I picked up most of his books, almost falling over on the bed by doing so, and tucked them away wherever there was space. After that challenging task, I attempted making his bed. The covers were as unruly as ever.

"Don't," I heard House behind me (had he been there the whole time?), "I'm going to bed soon, so there's no need. Go do something else, like putting your head into the oven and closing it and see how many degrees it cooks on."

I tried to just ignore it, but I was tired as well. "Please," I muttered, rubbing my eyes with my hands, "I'm really, really tired and…"

"Aw, poor you, did you have a bad day?" He said, mocking me with more sarcasm like that. I tried to get out of there. When I stepped towards the doorway, where he was standing, he seemed to want to block it more, but then he moved from it.

"What," I said when I passed him. He looked at me sort of weird, like he wanted to say something. "I think I'm gonna go to bed too, if you don't mind…"

He raised his eyebrows, but didn't say anything.

_3:23 Saturday_

He had trouble sleeping, for what seemed like (and probably was) the millionth time this month. This night it was especially irritating; instead of reading a book and other methods for trying to get drowsy, he listened to the wretched girl talking in her sleep in the other room. She was talking about something obscure, like "a piñata and the woman with the pink bow". Then she switched to just saying, over and over again (House heard it, although it was just a bit more than whispering): "Stop looking at me… what I have done? Listen, I don't like that stuffed animal more than you, and I agree that House really shouldn't, but…"

House sighed; it was all so… random, although it was a distraction from thinking too much. He still had a faint idea that Wilson had not told him everything when he was confronted, not even after he took a beating from that girl.

"Oh God not that stuffed thingy again…"

He wondered about how to shut her up. Shortly after thinking that, he fell asleep.

_Saturday morning…_

I normally had weird dreams from time to time, but what I dreamt the night to that Saturday topped everything; one of House's lackeys, Foreman I think, was trying to get House out of beating a piñata up with his cane. The poor piñata was shaped like a big pig, but reminded me strangely of the Australian at House's office. Then the woman Cameron came and closed it all up by screaming to me that she didn't like the shape of that piñata. It was all very disturbing.

What was more disturbing was that my boss told me he had heard me say something random about a piñata and him in my sleep. I blushed up like a tomato, and handed him the plate with his omelet without saying a word.

"Avoiding?" House asked, seemingly discovering that I held my tongue more than he thought usual.

"I… uh, didn't sleep well," I tried brushing it off, while giving him some cheese for the omelet from the fridge, "Lots of birds outside… they wouldn't shut up, you know?"

House smirked. _He must know something I don't, _I thought. He didn't elaborate on the subject though, so I thought he smirked just to make me uncomfortable (which he perfectly did without the grin as well).

_Later the same afternoon…_

House had the girl cornered. She was currently cleaning out the old closet, throwing away stuff like papers from last year and the like, and he knew that if he just closed the door behind her and locked it from the outside, she would not have any ways to exit. And then she would have to answer his questions without fail, without going around the subject, for him to let her out.

Okay, so he did have more devious plans, like drugging her down with his own Vicodin, tying her to a chair and then question her like in a movie or play, but he figured he had been in court enough for the accuse of abuse (threatened to be sued by patients who thought he had used unusual methods of curing them… well, at least he had cured them! They should be happy they weren't dead!). He didn't need another court order.

Deciding that this minute was as good as ever, he got up from the couch, and hobbled over to the closet. The girl hadn't noticed anything. House grabbed the key from the lock on the inside, then slowly closed the door and turned the key in the lock.

She noted quite quickly that she was locked in, because she banged on the door for quite a while.

"Hey! Let me out! Let me out, what the hell House?!"

"Listen, I want you to… wait, SHUT UP, WILL YOU?!"

It took him a while to get some words out; she was clearly sort of panicking in there, shouting and banging on the door like she was trapped in a tomb and not a closet.

"This I clearly very painful for you, so I suggest you listen to me and you'll be out of there in no time… Understood?"

_Inside the closet…_

That bastard! Locking me inside his closet!? He was insane! And now he told me to listen to him… why should I? This was very, very… annoying.

"Yeah," I said, trying to control the amount of anger in my voice. "Start talking."

I heard a sigh on the other side of the door. "Good. Now, what's with the low rate? And honesty this time, mind you."

This time it was my time to sigh. Seemed like I didn't have much choice. "Fine. When Dr. Wilson saw my ad, he didn't like the original charge… he said you would never keep me if I charged that much, so he changed it and said that even though it was cheaper, I still got a place to live, and I eat the same stuff as you, so you pay me for cooking and cleaning, and that's not really a lot is it? I mean, it's still you who pay for the groceries... and the cleaning stuff…" I stopped, lifting a very heavy box away from the shelf that was about two minutes from falling down. "So I think I got myself a pretty good deal."

House was quiet for some time (he didn't open the door, that bastard), leaving me to do some work again, but then the lights went out and I had to sit down in order not to trip on something disturbing while moving cardboard boxes all around. "And, let's say you're telling the truth, why didn't Wilson tell me this… even when he was beat up oh so gruesomely?"

I coughed, not wanting to remember that violent scene of the week. "Um, he said something about wanting to know himself that he somehow got you. That he won."

I heard him chuckle. Not out of amusement though; it seemed as he had figured out something I had not. "I don't... well, Wilson is Wilson...

"I'm not sure i just heard that... did you just sorta admit it?" I asked in astonishment. It didn't seem like House was the one to admit stuff like that (I didn't know what he was talking about, but I played along anyways).

The creepy diagnostician avoided the question entirely. House obviously hobbled away from the closet door, and I heard him take his jacket and keys. Then I thought of something; I was still inside the damn closet. "Hey! Wait! I'm still in here!"

He chuckled. "So you are. I'm hoping you'll be in there as well when I get back."

"No, no, no! Please, come on, let me out!" I heard myself pleading him to open the door (I found it extremely pathetic, but what can you do when locked inside something?). "Where are you going anyways?!"

"Why should i tell you? fine, fine, it's got something to do with Wilson..." A click from the front door. That was it, he'd left me. Or so I thought, because ten minutes later he returned and opened the goddamned closet, before ordering something spicy for dinner. I sighed and wrote a list to take with me when I shopped for groceries. Being House's maid was a pain.

END

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Well, there it is; THE END. Haha, this was a fun story to write! Thanks to all of you who read it, and especially thanks to everyone who reviewed it and came with suggestions you're fantastic people all of you!

Be sure to look for the sequel… coming to a fanfiction site near you… Love, Sora:)


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